Evidence of Things Not Seen
by Pandorama
Summary: It's May when Hotch tells Emily he wants to marry her. Follows "Interstitial" but can be read alone.


A/N: Theoretically takes place in s11. As with "Interstitial," this doesn't technically contradict canon, so it cannot be proven to be untrue. And that's the line I'm sticking with.

* * *

 **"Evidence of Things Not Seen"**

It's May when Hotch tells Emily he wants to marry her.

It's December before it dawns on him that she never answered because he never asked a question.

They spend Christmas Eve with the team at Dave's, and it's still so new for the rest of them, seeing them together, hearing her call him Aaron, that when they get caught under the mistletoe there are whoops and hollers like they're in high school and they both blush crimson.

Still, it's freeing to touch her, acknowledge her, to smile and laugh because this part of his life isn't restricted to off-hours or behind closed doors, and it's not a surprise, exactly, because he knows the way she makes him feel, but _everything_ feels different, warmer, with her there. With him.

Rossi taps his glass to make a toast to friends and family: the new additions to their lives and the ones they've lost, the ones gone for distance or change and the family he, himself, didn't know he had but can't imagine life without, and to the people who've been something more, whether they knew it or not, and who've finally found home.

Emily's hand finds Hotch's under the table and she tangles her fingers with his as he catches her eye, and it finally occurs to him, the question he still hasn't asked.

He knows it's pure tradition, that it won't change things on a practical level, but after everything, he wants the acknowledgement of what they are.

Sometimes, formalities hold meaning.

He pulls her aside as the chaos of cleanup reaches a din, and nods to the back door. She gives him a dubious look. "Just for a minute," he tells her. "Just us."

They meander through Dave's sprawling yard, eventually winding up without meaning to in the same place they danced, the place they said goodbye, three and a half years before.

"I realized something."

There's a pleasant heat flowing through her veins from the wine and a touch of lethargy, too, that has her sliding an arm under his open coat, around his torso, letting her weight press against him, the task of holding her up now shared. "What's that?"

"I never asked the question."

He's met with a low hum. It's not a surprised that she knows what he's talking about, because reading each other is reflexive now.

"Aaron - "

"I know it's just a piece of paper. But - "

"Aaron."

"I want to say it out loud. What this is."

"I know."

"If you don't want to, it won't change anything."

"I know that, too."

Her hand closes around the fabric of his sweater, pulling herself into him, and he closes his eyes for a moment to savor the feel of her.

"New Year's."

"Hmm?" She tilts her head back.

"New Year's. I'm giving you six days to think about it."

And as ever, the rest doesn't need to be voiced.

He wants to marry her, but only if she wants it, too.

* * *

Even before he'd given her a deadline, they'd both agreed that this year, it would just be them. They're both disappointed not to have Jack there, because they want to start the year with all three of them in the same place, but Jess wants to do something to celebrate while Roy's still lucid, and Hotch knows that him being there, with Emily no less, would just cause conflict with his father-in-law.

But they both want Jack to have this memory with his grandfather, with Haley's family.

Emily watches them pull away, arms wrapped around her waist because even if it's unseasonably warm, the knowledge that she's here, with them, _finally_ , makes her shiver.

She's taken the six days since his declaration to turn it over in her mind, profiling herself in a way she doesn't like but needs to, because this matters. The thing is, she wants to say yes. But she's not sure it's for the right reasons.

She knows how much he wants this, and she's not sure whether she wants it too, or if it's the prospect of making him happy that's the draw.

When he comes back forty-five minutes later, she's waiting for him on the front steps, coat wrapped around her, eyes closed, and he doesn't have to ask why.

She likes the stillness of night to lose herself in thought.

Her eyes open, though, and she holds out a hand, inviting him to join her. As he settles beside her, her eyes close again, and her head falls to his shoulder.

"Tired?"

Her hand finds his. "Just basking in suburbia."

"Come on in. It's cold."

She lets him pull her up and into the house. As he turns to lock up, she feels it, the same wave of affection that keeps swelling, keeps overtaking her, and when he turns back to her she's advancing, pressing him into the door.

It doesn't subside all night, simmering in her veins and boiling over at points, until it overwhelms her.

The sounds of the new year breaking almost go unnoticed, because they're both breathless, caught up in one another. But her eyes land on the clock face and she feels him beneath her, solid and warm and wanting her, and suddenly, it's simple.

"Ask me," she gasps, open mouth pressed against his carotid. "Right now."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"I have a -"

"I know. I don't care. Ask me," she demands, because she _knows_ , absolutely knows, that this moment where everything she feels for him, has felt for eight years, is at a crescendo is the one she wants to hold onto.

He stills just long enough to get his hands on her face so he can see her. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes." She keeps eye contact as long as she can because then he's moving again, and she's feeling everything without a filter, without fear, and it's all she can do to hold onto him as she surrenders.

Nothing's ever felt as clear as this.


End file.
